The savanna was bustling that morning. The storm from the night before had caused frenzy among all of the living. Now, the grass and the shrubs were already noticeably greener. This place was far more lush than Flat’s first home in the veld. It was far more lively too, and with it, more dangerous. Flat was alone at night, and got little sleep as the black of night swirled in roars and growls and screeches and bellows of pain. She knew being alone was a great danger. Her safety would depend on finding another group of buffalo. This task would occupy her for a long time.

She would wake up and walk for hours and hours. From time to time she would see a road, but the cars here drove slowly and its passengers all pointed fingers out the window. Flat tried as best she can to never go near these roads. Sometimes, though, she had little choice as most of the watering holes lay near the road. Drinking spots along the larger river were more secluded, but she never trusted the crocodiles. The thought of being caught by a crocodile felt more akin to falling into a trap than being hunted - she never drank for more than a few seconds at any of these rivers. So at the small watering holes - holes filled by hidden water pumps - she would bow to drink and refuse to lift her head in the direction of the cars. She would not meet eyes with them.

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There was a herd she had been tracking for a few days, keeping them in the far reaches of her sight. And on this beautiful morning after the storm, she would make contact. She followed through a dense woodland to reach an open plain. Scattered across the plain was the herd. She was part of a herd once, when she was still young, but she has no memory of how she left or where the others went. She remembers being part of a herd and then not being part of one.

A slow careful approach was needed. It was impossible to be sure how the others would react. As she neared, she began to hear grunts, the sound of hooves kicking up dust, young buffalo running to test their legs - all this and no notice of her presence and never would there be. A silence crept through the herd and then, a rush, a panic, a collective cry. Lions. A chase. Flat sprinted as the others, but in a different direction.

She would continue to spend her time walking the savanna. Only a day later, she came across a fence, far too high to jump. Flat resolved to follow it, surely somewhere along the way it would have a breach, perhaps somewhere there would be a quiet night to be had. The fence encircled this entire patch of savanna, she realized months later. It was to be her home.